Fri, December 11, 2074 7:21 pm-- Caliente Manor; Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Macaulay sank his fingertips into the beveled edge of a wall pannel while Ian positioned his shot. He thought of seeking out a wood grain whose lines would match up with the creases in his knuckles. Maybe he could camouflage his hand into the wall, and the rest of his body would follow. There were things about Pleasantview that Macaulay was not going to miss-- the conflicted blend of progressive and obsolete social attitudes that kept him teetering like a tightrope walker, the way that all of downtown stank like an old penny just before dusk, the black cloud of mosquitoes over that swelled Arbormoor in summer, and this most of all-- billiards night at Caliente Manor.
Macaulay did not dislike his friends. He did not even dislike Enoch who spent the first two weeks of their acquaintance refusing to acknowledge his presence. Even Enoch had his moments of virtue, which were made all the more poignant for his widespread priggishness. When Macaulay thought about it, this was probably why Laurie liked Enoch. It was why Macaulay liked him, in any case. Macaulay had a certain appreciation for all of them, he was just too used to being on his own to know how to be a pack animal like other teenagers.
This failing was not so desperate as it sounded. Most of his life had been spent alone or close to it. He found ways to engage himself. There were always new worlds to be explored within the walls of his own home, books to be read, puzzles to be solved, model cars to be built, music and languages to be mastered. He would never have characterized his childhood as lonely, merely separate. If not for Laurie, Macaulay would not be here at all.
As their circle expanded to accommodate Madeline and Warren Burb, Macaulay felt himself disconnecting further, so much so that he had begun to forge a physical distance from the main action of the room without his realizing. This did not go unnoticed. Earlier in the evening, Madeline threw her arm around his shoulders and subtly coaxed him forward. He had drifted back into the corner since then. Madeline began throwing questions at him to keep him involved. Ian was giving him that whipped puppy look of his at intervals. Ian's empathy was starting to grate on Macaulay's nerves just as much as Enoch's sexist jokes about the maid ever had. Warren sat by the fireplace with his nose buried in the Pleasantview Examiner, too preoccupied to wonder whether or not he should be respecting Macaulay's distance. Enoch, meanwhile, was finding ways to hit Macaulay with his pool cue while making it look debatably accidental. He felt like roadkill. He felt like absolute roadkill with a crowd of children hovering above him poking and prodding, consulting one another about whether or not he was dead.
Laurie left the room some time ago to study for a Physics exam. The game went on without him, and would probably continue until Mr. Caliente kicked them all out, which could take hours. According to him, Spartan citizens began military training as early as age seven, and the only modern corollary for the upper casts was billiards or golf depending on which of the two Mr. Calliente was advocating on a particular day. Far be it for him to interrupt young people engaging in such a core enterprise as billiards. Mr. Caliente had a certain sense of humor that often went way over everyone else's heads. Macaulay did not think that it was funny, not when he found himself staring down the barrel of the long night ahead of him. When Laurie left the room, a piece of Macaulay left with him. It sounded trite and overly dramatic in his mind, but it was true. Laurie was Macaulay's confidence, his connection. Laurie made Macaulay's presence felt, even when Macaulay said nothing at all.
"You going to join the land of the living or what?" Macaulay turned around, slowly peeling his hand from the wall. Everyone but Warren was looking at him. Enoch nodded his head towards the table. "You're up, hotshot." Macaulay looked at the table, losing himself in a sea of green felt. He would scratch on purpose, just to get the others out of his hair. He picked up his cue from against the wall. Leaning over the table, he could almost feel Enoch breathing down his neck. He picked an angle.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look just like a girl from behind?" Macaulay gritted his teeth at the remark while Enoch chuckled low in his throat.
"Give him some room, man," Ian chastized. Macaulay could hear Enoch stepping back. He searched for a clear path for the cue ball to land directly into a pocket.
"Three, side pocket," Macaulay mumbled. Enoch crept up next to Macaulay, wide-eyed and innocent as a lamb. He leaned his backside against the table and kept talking as though he had never been interrupted.
"I don't suppose that's something Lawrence would ever say. Then again, he's probably never been in a position to say it, has he? I think he'd tell me if he had, seeing as how I'm his best friend and all. Speaking of, you might want to act on that soon, Cull. Wouldn't want our man Laurie looking elsewhere for what he can't get at home, am I right? See, older guys expect certain things, and--"
"If I take the shot, will you shut-up?" Macaulay could feel his face growing hot. It was obvious that Enoch was trying to distract him, but the more he ignored it, the tighter his stomach wound in upon itself. Enoch was not saying anything that Macaulay had not thought of. Worse, Enoch must have now known that he had struck a nerve.
"Hey, why the long face? Just a little friendly advice," Enoch cooed.
"God Enoch, you're so pathetic sometimes. Can't you just lay off him?" Finally, the only person in the world with any influence over Enoch whatsoever had spoken. Enoch opened his mouth to protest when Warren cut-in.
"Whoah, that is so fucked-up!" A general puzzlement fell over the room. Macaulay could tell from his friends' expressions that they were all of one mind-- That yes, Enoch was rude beyond measure and yes, Madeline was not shy about cracking the whip when necessary, but these were typical behaviors. Warren's reaction, on the other hand, was completely out there. "Did you guys hear about this?" Warren snapped the paper straight. "'Dead Townsman Uncovers Scandal At Tellerman Manor'?" He was met with blank stares. He folded the paper in half before reading aloud.
"The body of Earl Gozanga, age forty-six, was found by a jogger yesterday in northeast Arbormoor. Gozanga, a caretaker at Gothier Green Lawns Cemetery was reported missing on November 20th after failing to return home from work. According to the Arbormoor Coroner's Office, the victim's cause of death was blunt trauma to the neck, possibly by the edge of a shovel or spade. The family of the victim reports that Gozanga had been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Luc Tellerman of Gothier to disinter over a dozen bodies found in a mass grave on the Tellerman property, to be reburied in Arbormoor Forest."
"Let me see that." Ian snatched the paper out of his brother's hands. Madeline screwed up her face incredulously.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"Man, this is serious. The Tellermans could be doing jail time if it's true," Warren added. Macaulay wanted to throw in, as well they should but held his tongue. Madeline pressed further.
"What else does it say?" Ian shook his head, his eyes working furiously across the page.
"Not much," Warren said. "There was a second grave digger on the site that the police now have in custody. Apparently, he was the last person to see Gozanga alive and is the chief suspect. The police found the burial plot in Arbormoor. Evidence suggests that Gozanga's body was moved after he experienced significant blood loss. The bodies that they were burying are thought to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred years deceased. The Tellermans were unavailable for comment. Locals think it was something called the Trike-yoo curse."
"What's the Trike-yoo curse," Madeline asked. Ian made a fluttering, dismissive motion with his hand.
"Tricou," he corrected. "It's to do with the family that built the house. Almost all of them died horribly or disappeared or went crazy back in the mid 1990's. People say that the family participated in blood rituals and orgies and the like. Urban legend." Enoch bowed his head, pretending to fall asleep.
"I'm sorry," Enoch yawned, stretching his arms wide. "Must have just dozed off there. Remind me again why we should give a gnat's ass about a bunch of eighty-year-old Townie bones?"
"Probably something to do with a man dying as a result of your aunt and uncle dumping human remains in the woods to make way for a swimming pool," Warren scoffed. "Anyway, the article didn't say the bodies were Townsmen. It doesn't identify them at all, actually." Everyone turned to Enoch, each wondering whether he knew something that they did not. He crossed his arms over his chest, reading their faces.
"Oh come off it, of course they were Townie! The only way that no one would notice a person burying twelve plus people in their backyard is if everyone looked the other way while it was happening. Besides, it's always the same story, isn't it? First Townies are born, then they go missing, then their mangled corpses are found in the woods. Isn't that right, Cully?"
Macaulay could not have said what came over him then. Whatever it was, it moved at an instant and was as involuntary as his heartbeat.
By the time he realized what he was doing, Enoch was lying on the floor shielding his face with his arms while Macaulay squatted above him, dealing blow after blow. Enoch's ink-black hair lay sopping upon his forehead. His nose was caked with blood and snot.
Macaulay could feel his pulse racing just beneath the skin. His fist throbbed with pain, but he could not reign in his need for more. He needed to make Enoch hurt more. There was nothing but the communion of his knuckles with every part of Enoch's head that he could reach, and when that was insufficient, he grabbed Enoch by the hair, striking the back of his skull against the floor.
Some distant part of his brain heard Warren swearing, and felt Ian's hands pulling him away. Macaulay continued to kick and swing ineffectually while Enoch rolled onto his side. Unable to inflict more damage, Macaulay howled in frustration.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Don't you ever talk about my mother, you bottom-feeding piece of shit!" The door flew open then, and Laurie strode in.
"Maddie, did you-- Oh my god." Laurie drew back when he noticed Enoch in a puddle on the floor. Madeline rushed over to inspect the damage. Laurie looked up at Macaulay, who was still fuming. "Oh my god."
"I think he might have a concussion. He's definitely going to need stitches. Enoch?" Madeline was patting Enoch's cheek. His lip had burst and his nose might have been swollen, but who could tell? Macaulay was not sure if it was enough, but it was a start. If anyone deserved worse, it was Enoch. Arrogant, tedious, horse-faced little weasel. Macaulay was done putting up with Enoch fucking Goth.
"Cully, what the hell?" Laurie seemed to be pleading more than anything. Macaulay felt a little ashamed, but no more. When he did not respond, Laurie bent down to help Enoch to his feet. Ian pulled Macaulay back against him by the collar and murmured heatedly in his ear.
"I'm taking you home." Ian pushed Macaulay roughly forward. "Maddie, get him to a doctor. Warren, you're coming with me."
Macaulay glanced over his shoulder as Ian lead him out of the room. Laurie was dabbing Enoch's nose with his shirt sleeve and saying something that Macaulay could not hear. Enoch nodded in response. A fresh surge of bitterness chilled Macaulay to the core. Laurie never asked if Macaulay was alright. He had hardly taken his eyes off of Enoch from the moment he walked through the door. Macaulay had never been angry at Laurie before, but he was now and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual. Maybe it would take a while for things to be the same between them again. Still, Macaulay was not sorry that it happened. It was the first time that he had ever felt truly satisfied to be his father's son.
Mon, November 23, 2074 11:45 am: Pleasantview Private School- Dorset, Pleasantview
Enoch drew invisible stitches down the corridor, his steady approach binding a taut seam between where he was and where he most wanted to be. The sound of Madeline's laughter bounced off of the walls, lighting his path along the floor. He didn't know what he would say when he reached her but he would damn himself for a coward if he turned tail and ran.
"It was a good effort but it just wasn't there. You know? I wouldn't call it the worst thing I've ever read. The concept was there. But I don't think that it was quite ready for the workshop." Enoch halted. It was a male voice. Madeline was talking to a dude and if Enoch was not mistaken, the dude in question was Shane. God, he hoped they weren't discussing his screenplay.
"I don't know. I thought the part about the bus driver was pretty good," Madeline said. It was all that Enoch could do not to groan. They were talking about his screenplay. He shoved his left hand into his pocket and balled the lining up into his fist.
"So you coming to movie night at the Academy this Friday?"
"I don't know. Is Dewilliker going to go all ape-shit on me again for chewing gum in the sitting room?" Enoch picked up his leaden feet and moved forward, closing the seam. He would pretend that he had overheard nothing. He would tell Madeline that her hair looked nice today. He would think of a positively soul withering insult to throw at the little bedwetting dipshit that was encroaching upon his fiancée. 
"Well, I can't really vouch for what the ancient mariner will or will not do," Shane said with a shrug. Enoch pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and cautiously stepped out of the shadows. Neither party glanced in his direction.
"What's the movie," Madeline asked.
"Metropolis, I think."
"Lame. I'm not watching that capitalist bullshit." Enoch cleared his throat. 
Madeline's eyes flickered in Enoch's direction but she did not turn. Shane muttered something about needing to get changed for fencing class and slunk away from the scene, his feet squeaking against the newly polished floor. Punk. Madeline sighed heavily and watched him go, feeling very plainly abandoned.
"So how's it going?" Enoch's voice broke somewhere between how's and going but he refused to let it interfere with his composure.
"It's going fine, Enoch," Madeline sighed. Her lips puckered so sweetly when she was annoyed.
"So what are you doing right now?" Enoch sidled up to her, getting only as close as he dared.
"I'm just putting away some textbooks," she said flatly.
"In where? In your locker? Can I walk with you? To your locker? That where you going?"
"My locker is three feet over there, Enoch." Madeline inclined her head to the left, indicating the location of said locker. 
"Just the same. Can I take your backpack?"
"No, I think I can handle it."
Enoch was acting like a pussy but he had it upon good authority that Madeline actually liked pussies. He'd seen the way she looked at Phoenix when they were dancing together at the Lothario cocktail party. And no guy was as pussified as Phoenix was. Well, no guy with the exception Enoch's dad, maybe.
The clay beads at the ends of Madeline's plaits clacked as she took the first steps towards her locker. Enoch resisted the urge to play with them. Madeline wordlessly punched her combination into the keypad on her locker's door.
"So umm... I like your hair. It's really sexy braided like that."
"What do you want, Enoch?" She began rummaging through her locker, tossing notebooks and pens from one aluminum corner to the next.
"I thought- I dunno. Maybe we could go rollerblading sometime?" Madeline pointedly slammed her locker door shut and Enoch briefly panicked.
"Or not. I mean, we could do something else. We could go to dinner. Or to the arcade. Or we could just get plastered," Enoch fumbled. Madeline swerved very slowly towards him.
"Let me get this straight- You are asking me out on a date?"
"Yeah, that's about the gist of it." Madeline smirked.
"Have your people call my people and I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience," she said, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.
"Like when?"
"I dunno." And with that, Madeline tossed her chestnut hair, taking her first lengthy strides away from a thoroughly confused Enoch. "Are you coming or what?" She shouted behind her without even slowing down. Enoch had to jog in order to catch up, all the while unsuccessfully reassuring himself that he was not at the mercy of her whims. 
Maybe it was only fair that he should trail after her a little. Nobody had ever asked Madeline if she wanted to marry Enoch. He wasn't entirely certain of what girl wouldn't want to marry him but she deserved the luxury of choosing. Madeline Burb. His girl. There wasn't a smarter, prettier or funnier one Pleasantview, Enoch was certain.
Flattening his lapels, Enoch was by sheer force of will recovering his courage. His determination gained in momentum as he watched the tartan pleats of Madeline's skirt swish back and forth over the fullness of her ass. If he had to, he would pester her until her defenses crumbled. He would be the needle that bore a tunnel through the face of a mountain. 
But all of Enoch's muddled thoughts were dashed by what awaited them around the corner. It was the worst possible pair that Enoch could have imagined encountering. Inwardly, he cursed his luck.
Laurie smiled at them in greeting. Madeline's brother Warren scowled in the subtle way that only he could scowl. And for the second time in ten minutes, Enoch contemplated making a hasty getaway.
For a brief second, the only sounds to be heard were the steady hum of the vending machine and the swish of Macaulay's turned pages. Warren opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and shut his mouth again. He tapped Laurie on the arm with the back of his hand. Laurie cringed away just slightly. Evidently, he didn't know Laurie well enough to keep the physical contact at a minimum.
"I'll catch up with you guys later. I'm gonna... I've got some stuff to take care of," Warren said.
"Yeah, see you later man," Laurie said, unfazed by Warren's sudden departure. Good riddance. 
"So you finally broke down and decided that you wanted to be seen in public with this asshole," Laurie asked jokingly. Enoch held his breath while Madeline snickered. 
"Not really. I just can't seem to get rid of him."
"Calling him names usually does it."
"Really? I'll have to keep that in mind." With that, Enoch involuntarily buried his head in his hands. Fucking Laurie, leading her into this conversation.
"So what have the two of you been talking about?"
"Oh nothing. Your horse-faced douchebag of a friend here wants to take me for a night on the town. Do you think I should go?" Laurie sucked his teeth contemplatively.
"You totally should, Maddie and I'll tell you why- You see, in all of the years that I've known him, I have never ever seen him make that face." 
Enoch didn't realize that he was making a face. He never thought of himself as a pouter. Indeed, he was uncertain of what was keeping him from yelling at Laurie or even both of them. It occurred to him that Madeline might like Laurie better, given the conspiratorial glances that she was languishing upon him. But even that thought did nothing to work Enoch's putty-like woe into a defensive outrage. He felt very strangely exposed. It was as though he were standing before them naked but he couldn't see his own nudity.
"So where are we going and when are you taking me there," Madeline asked. Enoch stared idiotically at Macaulay, who remained absorbed in his book despite the presence of people that he might have termed "friends". Turning the question over in his mind, Enoch realized that he must have misheard Madeline.
"Hunh?" Laurie and Madeline both snickered at Enoch's absent-mindedness. 
"Well it's kinda like this, Enoch. You have invited me on a date. I am accepting said invitation. So the next step would be to choose a time for this date. A location might also be helpful at this juncture. You mentioned rollerblading earlier. That sounds like a perfectly grand afternoon to me. So when and where should this rollerblading take place?" Madeline made a gesture with her hand that mimicked the two of them on skates.
"Wait, I don't get it. Are you just agreeing because Laurie said you should?"
"I trust his judgment."
"Ok. How about Saturday? My driver can pick you up around two or something. We'll go to the rink downtown."
"I am in accordance with this arrangement."
"Heartwarming," Laurie interjected. Madeline looked down at her watch.
"I've got to get out of here. My study hall is almost over. Mr. Caliente, always a pleasure," she said, extending a hand for Laurie to shake. As Laurie took Madeline's hand, Madeline grabbed Enoch's.
It was a quick gesture. She threaded her fingers between his and squeezed. A hiccup lodged in Enoch's throat. She'd touched him. And more than that, she'd done it discreetly so that Laurie wouldn't take the piss out of him later.
By the sound of his tone, Laurie was spewing forth some manner of nonsense but Enoch was too far away comprehend it.
"Only thing, Enoch," Madeline began. Hearing his name, Enoch was brought back into reality. "No funny business on Saturday. The second you reach for my tits, the date is over. I mean it." Now it was Enoch's turn to smirk.
"But what if you want-"
"Believe me, I won't." Madeline gave Laurie one final headshake as though the two of them were in on something that Enoch was not privy to and left down the hall. She greeted Macaulay pleasantly as she passed by, her voice taking on the musical lift that girls always used with Macaulay. Enoch couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that merited that sort of treatment. When Madeline was out of earshot, Laurie turned on Enoch.
"Did I just get you a date with a girl who hates you," he snickered.
"Shut-up! She doesn't hate me." Enoch scowled. Something was brewing in his throat and chest. It was his wounded pride lashing out several minutes too late.
"Could have fooled me," Laurie said with a shrug.
"Right. And how far have you gotten with Mr. Perfect over there? The two of you on a first name basis yet?" The quip rushed forward before Enoch had time to mull it over. Laurie winced as though he had been punched in the stomach. He didn't deny his attraction to Macaulay like Enoch thought that he might. He simply recoiled, drawing in his head into his collar like a tortoise and pursing his lips into a thin white line.
Not once had Enoch ever given Laurie any indication of the fact that he knew about his preferences. And now the information was sprawled out against the floor, leaving no room for either of them to tip toe past. 
Sun, November 22, 2074 6:10 pm: Goth Manor- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
Alexander stared at the half-empty bottle of cognac perched near the center of the table and imagined what might happen if he threw it against a wall. Perhaps the noise would come first, discordant and shrill. Perhaps the glass-riddled air would glitter in the instant before the shards settled. Perhaps Angela would ask, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Perhaps Enoch would laugh. Perhaps the baby would shriek. Perhaps Lydia would exhale once and blink twice.
Alexander had awoken that morning much the same way he did everyday. In the bathroom, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror and realized not that he disliked what he saw but that there was nothing to see. The room was no more occupied with him in it than it would have been without.
And sometimes, when he noticed the penetrating, accusatory stares that Lydia gave to his eldest son- When her loathing was at its most palpable to no one else but him- Alexander thought that she might be suffering from a similar affliction. The two of them could have been on fire and everyone else would have just gone on eating their dinner.
A single chair separated Lydia from Alexander but it might as well have been a continent. Lydia never sat near enough for him to pour her drink or accidentally brush the side of her leg with his own. He was almost certain that she kept her distance intentionally. Even in his fantasies, she would chastise him for fantasizing.
"I heard some interesting news today," Horace said, laying his chopsticks down on the table. "The Tellermans are expecting a crop of pinot noir grapes this winter." Rolling her eyes, Angela wiped her mouth with her napkin.
"You must have heard wrong. Pinot noir doesn't grow in November in this climate." Horace tapped his mother on the shoulder.
"That's what makes the news so interesting, isn't it?"
"Since when do the Tellermans grow wine grapes anyway," Enoch snorted. "Some of their fields are damp enough to be rice patties."
Alexander ran his fingers around the rim of his bowl, staring directly at Angela but not sparing her a thought. She spoke with her hands as much as she did with her mouth and Alexander found it to be vaguely hypnotic. His wife was a blur of fingers and sleeves. Alexander rested his neck on his palm, accidentally finding his pulse. He fancied that each pair of beats was a warning. Tempus. Fugit. Tempus. Fugit. If only he could be someone else. Anyone else.
Lydia tossed her unkempt hair over her shoulder. Alexander couldn't help but stare at the milky, pristine length of her neck. Tempus. Fugit. Everyone deserved to get what they wanted out of life. But he was a Goth and Goths were never quite so fortunate.
August 11, 2049 11:52 pm: Goth Manor- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview (Twenty-Five Years earlier)
The door slammed. Alexander climbed atop his father's oak desk and flattened his body against the wall, realizing too late that he should have hidden underneath instead. He was not meant to still be awake at that time of night and in any case, he had a guilty conscience. He was planning to go outside to catch the last fireflies of the season.
"The men of your family seem to have a preternatural talent for seducing women of a certain ilk but I refuse to allow my daughter to be taken in by the illiterate half-breed that mows our lawn." It was his mother's voice. Alexander peeked around the corner. She was standing in the foyer with the gardener, her face partially obscured by the brim of her hat.
"We're just friends is all." The gardener cast his eyes to ground as he spoke. Alexander's mother lightly placed her palm at the base of her throat, seeming to choke on the stagnant air between them.
"Friends?Friends? Do you think I'm some kind of simpleton? What could the two of you possibly have in common?" The gardener shook his head slowly.
"All due respect Mrs. Goth, if you don't know then you wouldn't understand." Bella folded her arms over her chest, exasperated.
"Whatever the nature of your relationship with Cassandra, it ends now. And you had better pray that her father does not get wind of this."
"Yes ma'am."
"I've decided to put Bachelor Manor on the market. You and your men will maintain that property until its sale."
"You're kicking me off my work here?"
"That is correct, Mr. Lothario." The gardener ran his fingers through his slick black hair. Alexander remarked the man's eyes for the first time. They were green like the sludge on the stream banks of Arbormoor Forest.
"That poor girl doesn't have another person in the world to talk to but me and you're gonna take that away from her too?"
"My daughter is not your concern."
"She got her father on one end making her sick to death expect'n too much of her and you on the other end forcing her to be something she's not. Being with me is the only time she's ever allowed to just be a normal kid-"
"She is not a normal kid. She is a Goth. And you would do well to remember it. Goodnight, Mr. Lothario." Alexander knew that tone of voice well. The gardener was on thin ice. He yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
Alexander slid down the wall until he was crouching. In a moment or two, his mother would round the corner and find him sitting there. He expected to be the recipient of her misplaced frustration. He expected her to grab him by the ear and drag him up to his room. As it happened, she looked right at him, blank and unreadable. Then she silently walked away as though he had never been seen.
Part I: Madeline Is Guided
Sat, November 14, 2074 8:01 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
"You and I are going to be the best of friends, I just know it! We're going to have so much fun! I'll teach you how to dress and how to do your hair and- Ooo, I know of this great place by the water where cute boys like to play soccer topless in the mud and..."
Madeline didn't mean to be rude but she was starting to zone out. Sabina's jeweled earrings and hair ornaments were splashing colored lights against her tawny cheek. Madeline traced their inconsistent path with her eyes. Up and down. Right to left. It was the only thing keeping her awake.
How Sabina could manage to be so exhausting without forcing Madeline to move an inch was a complete mystery. If Madeline's expression was a bit glazed or her mouth a little slack, Sabina did not seem to notice. She giggled and yammered with an astonishing fluency- Every word of it, chowderheaded fluff.
"So what do you think?" The abrupt halt in Sabina's prattling jarred Madeline out of her trance. Rather than admit her failure to pay attention, Madeline decided to take the high road.
"It's really just a matter of opinion, isn't it," she said. Sabina smiled, scrunching up her nose.
"Of course it's a matter of opinion and I want yours. So what do you think? Should I go blond?"
"I..." Madeline was having difficulty connecting the last thing that she remembered Sabina saying to this inquiry about hair color. Still, Madeline found a perverse sense of delight in playing along. She leaned forward in her chair and spoke with as much conviction as she could muster, "Most definitely, you should."
"Really? You think so?"
"Oh yeah, no question. It would totally bring out your eyes." Sabina's face lit like a tinderbox.
"I'm so glad you said that because I've really been seriously thinking that it's time for a change." And that was when the power died. The lights gradually dimmed with a low, electric moan.
The entire room went rigid. Beneath the undercurrent of silence, Madeline heard Lawrence whisper something that sounded very distinctly like, "Damn, we forgot about the candles!" Murmurs rose across the room. There was a significant amount of shuffling over by the piano. Madeline caught glimpses of her fiancé's bright yellow shirt in the candlelight. And just below his shoulder was Lawrence's cinnamon-colored head.
"Ladies, gentlemen and Dina," Enoch shouted, nodding over his shoulder at their hostess. "In honor of Lydia and Dad's respective birthdays, young master Lawrence and I would like to present you with a brief musical interlude to tonight's festivities. This first song is dedicated to our sister Lydia and is performed by her personal request." Lawrence's fingers slipped across the keys, playing his scales with a flourish. Enoch cleared his throat and a vaguely familiar tune wafted upwards from the piano. Then Enoch began to sing in an unnatural baritone.
"The devil went down to Georgia, he was look'n for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal. When he came across this young man poke'n a piano and play'n it hot, the devil jumped up on a hickory stump and said, 'Boy, let me tell ya what! I bet you didn't know it but I'm a piano player too..." Sabina groaned miserably. Madeline leaned back in her chair, almost in awe.
"I didn't even know that song could be played on a piano," she said absently. Sabina closed her eyes and shook her head.
"Those boys can be such show-offs sometimes," she said. Sabina's head then snapped in Madeline's direction and she peered suspiciously. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything but what does a girl like you see in someone like Enoch?"
"Nothing." Madeline regretted that the truth often came from her as a knee-jerk reaction. Sabina's eyes widened. For a moment, Madeline could feel her mouth moving but no sound was coming out. "I mean, we don't know each other that well. It's an arranged marriage."
"Oh," Sabina said. Madeline glanced over at Enoch, who was now twirling and grabbing his crotch as he sang. Her eyes wandered across the room and she was surprised to see how much the adults were enjoying themselves. Some of them were even square dancing. Madeline's parents included.
"Then what do your parents see in him," Sabina pressed. Madeline shrugged.
"I suspect they see eight hundred thousand simoleons in him." Sabina hit the arm of her chair hard with her palm.
"Eight hundred thousand? Are you serious? For a second born child?" She seemed on the verge of pitching a fit. Madeline shrank away a little.
"Yeah. Is that unusual?"
"Unusual? Are you kidding? If he weren't my cousin, I'd consider putting up with him for that kind of cash!" The song ended and the impromptu musicians were met with boisterous requests for an encore. The boys put their heads together before announcing something about the next song being "for the ladies". Couples drew nearer to one another on the dance floor.
Madeline turned away from Sabina when she captured a flash of movement just beyond Sabina's chair. It was Ian, briskly heading for the door. A radiant grin swept across his face. He winked at Madeline just before disappearing into the night.
"What do you think he's up to," Madeline asked. But Sabina was not listening.
There was a pained look on her face. Madeline followed her gaze across the room to where the Calientes were becoming sordidly affectionate.
Madeline had never really understood why public displays of affection were difficult for most people to stomach. She had grown up with her parents kissing and cooing all over the house at all times of the day. She was raised with the notion that love was more vital than air. Bitterness clogged her chest when she thought about the way that she had been bartered off to the Goth family. She had cried herself to sleep for three nights after the engagement was announced but she never spoke a word against it to anyone. It was just the way things were.
"That's my parents over there," Sabina said, pulling Madeline out of her thoughts. "My mother is almost forty and in the family way. She's trying to cover it up with that empire waistline but I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. It's completely scandalous." Maybe Sabina hadn't been looking at the Calientes at all.
And suddenly, Madeline found herself hating them- the Calientes, the Dreamers, her own parents. They were each in possession of something more elusive and immaterial than a shadow but all the more sacred for it. Madeline would never be looked upon in the way that Mrs. Caliente looked at her husband. And that knowledge consumed her.
Madeline leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. When would the night be merciful and end? She tried to tune out Lawrence's rendition of Unchained Melody but found it to be increasingly difficult. He had a surprisingly powerful voice that carried like dry leaves in the wind.
"And what brings you to our humble corner of the room?" Madeline's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Sabina's hearty greeting.
Standing above Madeline was a handsome man who appeared to be in his early twenties. He smiled at Madeline just slightly but she was not in a mood to return the favor.
"I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I allowed two pretty women to go without a dance partner," he said, never once turning to Sabina while he spoke. Madeline felt her cheeks grow hot. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Miss..."
"Burb. But call me Madeline. I'm John and Ginny's daughter." Madeline stood to shake the man's hand and was caught off guard when he brought her hand to his lips.
"Nice to meet you, Madeline. I'm Phoenix Goth." Phoenix! What a name! Madeline wished that he and Sabina would turn away so that she could practice mouthing that name.
"Oh for the love of crap Phoenix, stop flirting. She's already taken. And anyway, she's too young for you," Sabina cautioned. Phoenix blushed visibly in the dim light. Madeline found it to be endearing. Sabina rolled her eyes. "Well aren't you going to ask her to dance?" It was a weirdly forceful demand. Phoenix grinned bashfully.
"Would you," he asked. There was an undue heaviness in those two very rudimentary words. Or maybe Madeline was imagining that.
"Yes, I would. I mean, I will. I mean, yes I'd like to dance." Madeline studied the way his top lip tucked just slightly above his teeth and the creases that protracted at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Phoenix turned his gaze to Sabina.
"I'm coming back for you next," he said. Sabina folded her arms over her chest.
"As if! I'd rather be caught dead than be seen dancing with my own uncle," she huffed. Madeline scarcely heard her. Phoenix took Madeline's hand casually, as though they were much more than new acquaintances and guided her across the divide.
Part II: Ian Admires A Bird
Sat, November 14, 2074 8:14 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
Lydia had a neighing laugh that started somewhere near her esophagus and coiled tightly around the base of her throat, allowing for only funny little wheezes to escape through her nose. Most people found her laugh to be unladylike and off-putting but Ian was charmed.
"How long do you think we have before anyone notices that we're gone," Lydia asked.
"All night, probably. I suggest we climb through the bushes and go grab a pint somewhere."
"Don't tempt me," Lydia snorted.
"Do you think we should at least turn their lights back on?"
"Absolutely not. I'm savoring the image of Dina scurrying around back here with a flashlight to flip the fuse back on after everyone has left."
"Eh, it will probably be me that has to do all the scurrying."
"If she asks it of you, then you have my permission to tell her where to shove it." Ian shook his head.
"Can you really imagine me telling Dina where to shove it?"
"No but you ought to every once in a while." The two of them quieted for a moment.
"It's a really nice night." Ian felt silly saying it but something had to be said.
"Yeah it is," Lydia said, looking around. "You guys don't empty your pool in the fall?"
"Nope. It's heated. I like to swim in the mornings. Helps me ease into my day."
"What about your night?" Lydia unfastened her necklace. The act puzzled Ian but he plowed ahead nonetheless.
"I don't need to ease into my night. It's the day that scares me." Lydia removed her gloves and let them fall to the ground.
"What in the world are you doing?" Ian laughed uneasily. As if in response, Lydia unzipped the back of her dress and slipped the entire thing over her head. "You're completely nuts," he said breathlessly. Try as he might, Ian couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. Lydia unclipped her mousy brown hair and it tumbled gracefully down her shoulders. She turned to the diving board.
The pool lights cast a gentle glow against her bare skin. Ian realized rather uncomfortably that Lydia's underwear was so sheer that she might have been wearing nothing at all.
"What if someone sees," he whispered desperately. Lydia shrugged.
"Then maybe they'll be inspired to join me."
Lydia plummeted from the diving board like bird struck down by a stone. It was tragically, almost poetically beautiful. And in that instant, Ian had an epiphany.
Maybe he really was as stupid as people always told him. He must have been if he was only just now noticing such a creature as Lydia Caliente-Goth. She was plain and skinny. She dressed like a man and belched with malice. But by God, those were the things that made her nothing short of divine.
